Page 130 of Sexting the Boss
Ethan: I’m standing by the stairs now.
My breath stutters. I glance toward the doorway, heart racing, but he doesn’t appear.
Ethan: Do you want me to come up?
Me: Yes.
Ethan: Not yet.
I squeeze my eyes shut, frustration and heat tangling together.
Ethan: You’re shaking. I know you are.
Me: I am.
Ethan: Spread your legs wider.
I obey, the air cool against my skin, my body aching with awareness.
Ethan: Now don’t move.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs then, slow and deliberate, but he still doesn’t enter. I picture him leaning against the hallway wall, phone in hand, watching me through imagination alone.
Ethan: I’m outside the door. Don’t look at me.
My pulse jumps.
Ethan: Tell me what you want.
I type without thinking.
Me: I want your mouth. I want your hands. I want you to stop teasing me.
Another pause.
Ethan: You’re going to sit there and ache while I watch you fall apart. And when I finally touch you, you’re going to be begging.
My body reacts hard to that, thighs clenching, breath shallow.
I hear the soft sound of him shifting just outside the room.
Ethan: Keep your legs open, he texts. Don’t move. Don’t come.
My phone buzzes again before I can steady myself.
Ethan: I’m right here.
Then the door creaks open behind me.
I hear him step in—just one quiet footfall, then another—and then silence.
He says nothing.
Does nothing.
I stare to the side opposite of the door, heart in my throat, breath caught somewhere between need and surrender.
The bed dips beside me.
